Love

The smell of Chinese takeaway,
The voices on tv,
Our song, scratched out on vinyl,
And the way you look at me.

The boiling of the kettle,
And the scent of Summer dew,
The private jokes we always make,
The way I look at you.

The picture on the mantelpiece,
The painting on the wall,
The coaster rack, the DVDs,
To catch me when I fall.

Guitars and snow, nostalgia,
London busses, wine and ice,
Lucky numbers, robins, seagulls,
Cluedo, early mornings, rice.

Chopsticks, lemon flavoured everything,
And Edgar Allen Poe,
From Alaska to Japan,
And penguins, what a way to go.

There's flying, moving, driving, running,
And depression there as well,
I tell you, everything is perfect,
Head first, body deep, I fell.